


Triptych

by venvephe



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Puns, Clothed Sex, Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, Drabble Collection, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Mission, Riding, Sex Toys, Smut, Stakeout, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: Jesse stares.Hanzo’s perched over him, bare knees bracketing Jesse’s muscular thighs. It’s a position he’s found himself in before - gladly and willingly, like he’d ever complain about a naked Hanzo straddling him - but this is, well-His eyes don’t move from the round band of silicone stretched around Hanzo’s fingers. It’s a dark teal in color, perfectly circular except for where Hanzo’s knuckles make the rubber distend and bulge from its original shape. And one of the outer sides is thicker than the others, flat-headed with something boxy underneath the silicone surface.When he finally looks up to meet Hanzo’s eyes, the archer is smirking. “Genji said if you like something, then you should put a ring on it.”





	1. Beyoncé's Good Advice

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a dog's age since I've written for McHanzo or Overwatch, but something I've been meaning to do is archive the various prompts and ficlets I posted to tumblr, in the (inevitable? eventual?) case that it goes down in flames. 
> 
> This fic is a three-part collection of the longest McHanzo pieces I wrote; each chapter is separate, and will be titled and tagged accordingly. They're all pretty smutty, which - well, it's not a surprise, when it comes to what I tend to write, lol. These were super fun to write, and maybe at some point I'll come to explore more fun stories with these boys.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Smut, sex toys, cock ring, vibrators, flirting, teasing, anal, riding, topping from the bottom.

 

Jesse stares.

Hanzo’s perched over him, bare knees bracketing Jesse’s muscular thighs. It’s a position he’s found himself in before - gladly and willingly, like he’d ever complain about a naked Hanzo straddling him - but this is, well-

His eyes don’t move from the round band of silicone stretched around Hanzo’s fingers. It’s a dark teal in color, perfectly circular except for where Hanzo’s knuckles make the rubber distend and bulge from its original shape. And one of the outer sides is thicker than the others, flat-headed with something boxy underneath the silicone surface.

When he finally looks up to meet Hanzo’s eyes, the archer is smirking. “Genji said if you like something, then you should put a ring on it.”

Oh my _god_.

“Genji,” Jesse says, trying and failing to make his voice sound less strangled, “instructed you on buying a cock ring.”

“He didn’t help in picking it out,” Hanzo replies, a little petulant. His eyes are still glittering with amusement at Jesse’s reaction, with no small amount of smug satisfaction - and excitement. “But occasionally he has a few good ideas.”

Hanzo parts the three fingers bound by the ring’s tight grip, both of their gazes transfixed on the toy as it gives, stretches - but not by very much. It’s clearly a snug fit already, and Hanzo’s hands are by no means small.

He’s not so sure about having this thing all up around his junk, but he trusts Hanzo. And when has he been able to say no to the man, anyways? The more pressing matter is-

“So,” Jesse drawls, running his hands up the contours of Hanzo’s thighs, settling his palms on the strong arch of his hips, unable to resist squeezing the dense muscle of Hanzo’s ass between his fingers. Always take the chance to go with a grope when your boyfriend lets you get away with it. “You like somethin’ enough to put a ring on it, huh? Gonna make an honest man of me?”

Hanzo flushes all pretty-like, pink staining his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. But he gives as good as he gets. “What I’m going to do is make you beg.”

Jesse’s cock jumps with interest against his belly, twitching as it thickens at the idea. Of course Hanzo notices; he grins down at Jesse, eyes sharper than his smile despite the blush. It’s an awfully good look on him, prowling over Jesse as he is, predatory and powerful. He knows he’s got Jesse exactly where he wants him.

The breath steals out of his chest when Hanzo’s clever fingers slide down his body, encircle his cock in a knowing grip. Jesse’s eyes go half-lidded, hips rocking up to meet Hanzo’s downward strokes. He can’t help himself, can’t stop the reactions of his body to this man. Between the heat igniting in his gut at the touch and the fond spark in his chest at the sight of Hanzo’s pleased smile, Jesse knows he’d let Hanzo do anything.

It doesn’t take him long to get to full hardness, not with Hanzo watching him with keen eyes, his own cock filling now that he’s got a hand on Jesse’s. He slides the cockring off his fingers, rests it in one palm as he gently pulls Jesse’s cock away from his belly to do the honors. Their eyes meet again, and Jesse can only quick an eyebrow and grin. _Go on. Do it. I’m already yours, ring or no._

The silicone ring is a tight fit, a collar if Jesse’s ever felt one; he can feel his cock pound with his own heartbeat, heavy and thick and straining against its new confine. Somehow, he feels even harder than he’s ever been before. Hanzo licks his lips, petting up and down the shaft admiringly, spready precome with his fingers and testing the feel of it with his broad palm.

_Definitely_ harder than he’s ever been before.

It’s a foreign sensation, the tightness of the ring so snug around his cock, but the distraction of it fades to the back of his mind as Hanzo levers himself up and onto one elbow, pressing their chests together as he reaches behind himself with his right hand.

Because this might be Jesse’s favorite part. Most of the time, Hanzo lets Jesse do this, lets him snake a hand down and around to slick Hanzo’s hole, stretch and spread him so good that Hanzo’s swearing and scrabbling against Jesse for his cock rather than just the blunt width of his fingers. But not tonight; tonight, Hanzo slicks his fingers with his mouth, reaches back to nudge at his own hole, to press his fingers inside. Jesse groans low at the sight. He can’t really see where Hanzo fingers himself - all that’s visible over the muscular curves of his shoulders and ass is Hanzo’s flexing wrist - but he can read his face well enough to know what’s happening.

Jesse rocks his hips upwards, enjoying the tantalizing friction of skin-on-skin as his cock smears precome on Hanzo’s stomach, transfixed by the flickering expressions on Hanzo’s face. His eyebrows dip into a concentrated frown as his fingers first breach the ring of muscle, the burn of the initial stretch causing the breath in his chest to hitch. Jesse reaches for the cool bottle of lube nudging into his hip, drizzles the slick on Hanzo’s fingers when he offers them.

There’s nothing compared to watching him like this. His composure cracks as he seeks his own pleasure, breath starting to go ragged as he works himself open, get himself even wetter for Jesse’s cock. Hanzo bites his lip in concentration and Jesse has to push up to kiss away the sting of his teeth, even if his muscles complain about the strain of the position. Molded together chest to thigh in a hot line, Hanzo panting against his collar, Jesse can read the tension in Hanzo’s shoulders, the bow-tight curve of his spine, the set of his teeth against Jesse’s neck when finally, finally, he finds that spot inside himself and keens against Jesse’s skin.

That’s just about all he can take, heart pounding out a heady rhythm against his ribs as he feels Hanzo writhe against his chest. Jesse sucks two fingers into his mouth, whorls his tongue around them until they’re nice and wet - they both like it wet. It takes a bit of reaching, but Hanzo positively moans when Jesse’s calloused fingers join his own in sliding into his hole, the muscle twitching hot and slick against his fingertips.

“Jesse,” Hanzo groans, hips shifting back in time to the slow rhythm Jesse establishes, fingers pistoning in and out in a steady glide. He’s probably more than enough prepared by now - Hanzo’s always loved a little bit of stretch, anyways. But Jesse doesn’t stop, teases the rim with his thumb as his fingers move just to hear the noises clawing their way out of Hanzo’s throat. The blush on the archer’s face is hot against Jesse’s neck, nearly as hot as the lips that suck a string of marks onto his skin. He’s gonna look quite the sight, after this.

The thought only makes his cock ooze and thicken even more.

Jesse could do this forever - the slow build towards orgasm, teasing waves of pleasure out of Hanzo, rocking together in their own sweat and panting breath. Neither of them have the patience for it, tonight. With a roll of his hips down into Jesse’s - their cocks slide together, messy and red - Hanzo pushes up, hands balanced on Jesse’s shoulders as he sits upright again. A palpable shiver runs down his spine at the loss of Jesse’s fingers inside him.

Hanzo’s hands are a little uncoordinated as he shuffles back, taking Jesse’s leaking cock in his fist so that he can line him up with his hole. Jesse can’t help but take pride in that: that he can do this, that he’s the one that gets to see Hanzo like this, make a mess of him, bring him to the knife’s edge of pleasure night after night. That Hanzo lets him in like this, gives so much of himself and gives so much in return.

He’s the one that reduces the archer to a quivering mass of oversensitive nerves, beautiful as he sweats and swears and gives himself over to pleasure.

But, well. It wouldn’t be love if Hanzo couldn’t turn him into a wrecked mess in kind.

The moment Hanzo sinks down on his cock leaves them both breathless, wordless in the guttural groans it draws from both of them. For all their preparation, Hanzo’s body is still a hot vice around him, and he knows the stretched fullness is exactly what Hanzo needs from the way his cock twitches when he’s fully seated. He rocks a little, letting his body get used to the sensation, finally blinking his eyes open and grinning at Jesse when he’s gotten himself a little more under control.

That’s when his smile grows sharper, into a smirk again, and he reaches between them for the cock ring. Jesse’s head spins, heartbeat roaring in his ears; he barely has enough blood left in his brain to wonder what Hanzo’s up to before there’s a little click, just the depression of a button he hadn’t even seen on the side of the damn thing, and-

\- Oh, fucking _hell_. The goddamn cock ring _vibrates_.

If it wasn’t a rodeo before, it’s damn well going to be one now.

Hanzo gasps above him as Jesse plants his feet on the bed, grits his teeth into a smirk as his cock pulses, the shivery edge of orgasm starting to run down his spine. He’s never felt something quite like this, the vibrations make his breath hitch in his chest from the sensitivity of his cock, straining even harder against the silicone ring. From the way Hanzo’s eyes rolls back a little and his hips roll back and forth, like he doesn’t even realize he’s grinding down, the damn ring has turned Jesse’s cock into a living vibrator.

He can work with this.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he growls, squeezing Hanzo’s hips as he pulls out, slides home to the sound of a high whine in Hanzo’s throat. “Let’s _ride_.”

 

 


	2. Telephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Aw, come now, darlin’,” McCree drawls, all butter-smooth and unflappably amused, “Aren’t you looking forward to spending a few hours staking out King’s Row and getting to know me better?”
> 
> Hanzo doesn’t grumble, but it’s a close thing. “Whether or not I am looking forward to it, it is a mission that needs to be done. And it will be a long one, if you insist on chattering the entire time, _over._ ”
> 
> Jesse chuckles, and Hanzo can practically hear the slow smile creep into his voice. “Well now,” he says, and Hanzo’s stomach swoops at the deep rumble in his tone. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Flirting, dirty talk, misuse of Overwatch radio comm equipment, masturbation, phone sex.

 

If there’s anything that Hanzo has learned through his tenure as an Overwatch agent so far, it’s this:

Stakeouts are the worst.

Unequivocally, unquestionably the worst type of mission they must partake in. Reconnaissance suits Hanzo’s penchant for high places and keen observation; escorting payloads - or defending them against attackers - at least provides a chance to engage the enemy, as tedious as it can be to get the damn thing moving. Capturing points and staving off waves of Talon operatives through a key choke point is challenge he can revel in, a danger that makes his heart pound, an opportunity to bare his teeth and fight like he wants and knows he can.

But this - this waiting, long-drawn hours of stillness for the passing chance of good intel without guaranteed reward - this is by far his least favorite mission.

At least he’s not alone in his misery.

“This is McCree - ready and in position on the South side. Hanzo - do you read me, over?”

He takes it back. Being alone, at least, would be quieter.

“I read you,” he murmurs into the comm-unit in his ear, bringing a hand up to adjust the little piece of metal and plastic. It’s a perfect fit - nothing less would come from Winston and Lucio - but he’s not used to the feeling of something foreign nestled in his ear. Maybe it’s just that the cowboy sounds so close, despite being more than half a kilometer away. “Loud and clear, emphasis on the loud, over.”

“Aw, come now, darlin’,” McCree drawls, all butter-smooth and unflappably amused, “Aren’t you looking forward to spending a few hours staking out King’s Row and getting to know me better?”

Hanzo doesn’t grumble, but it’s a close thing. “Whether or not I am looking forward to it, it is a mission that needs to be done. And it will be a long one, if you insist on chattering the entire time, over.”

Jesse chuckles, and Hanzo can practically hear the slow smile creep into his voice. “Well now,” he says, and Hanzo’s stomach swoops at the deep rumble in his tone. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”

The silence is suddenly loud as the comm link crackles; Hanzo can feel his face starting to heat in the cool night air. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the cowboy was implying - he’s always been a flirt, turning on the charm no matter how many times Hanzo refuses to rise to the bait. But there’s something about the deep, rich tone of McCree’s voice in his ear tonight, like honeyed bourbon. Where the accent is usually something he can sneer at, now it warms his chest, a heat that trickles down to his gut, heavy and thick.

This has never happened before - not with any of the other Overwatch agents, and not even when he’s been paired with McCree himself on previous missions. What is different about tonight? That it’s just the two of them?

“This is a secure channel,” Hanzo swallows, not sure if he’s protesting or raising the stakes.

“All the better for a good long talk,” McCree replies with a smirk.

Hanzo can feel his resolve chip away with every word. What has gotten into him, that he’s so affected by the cowboy’s voice?

“So keep talking,” he murmurs back, and is rewarded with a hitch in Jesse’s breath, a deep chuckle that seems to settle in his chest and buzz in his veins. Stakeouts have never been this interesting; it’s not difficult to keep his eyes trained on the quiet street below, even while his ears are occupied with trying to catch every exhale, every word that comes out of McCree’s mouth.

“You’d better get comfortable, sweetheart. I’m liable to talk your ear off,” McCree says. There’s the faint jangling of spurs through the static of the line, for a moment, as Jesse takes his own advice. “And anything else, if you give me the chance. You could give a man a head start, ‘n tell me what you’re wearing.”

Hanzo’s pulse jumps in his throat, even though he knew very well it would come to something like this. Jesse’s voice pours down his spine like syrup, slow and heady. They’ve barely started and he can feel his body reacting. But he does take Jesse’s advice, sliding down to sit on the cool stone of the roof, tucked into his sniper’s perch. “You saw me not an hour ago, McCree.”

“And weren’t you a distracting sight,” the cowboy purrs, and Hanzo’s breath catches in his chest. “But indulge me, won’t you, darlin’?”

Hanzo exhales messily; everything about this is indulging, including the glove-clad hand that’s inching downwards, towards the bulge where his cock is thickening in his pants. He’s not a teenager anymore - McCree’s voice shouldn’t have such an effect on him. But it does, and he can’t seem to help himself. His own breath sounds ragged, over-loud to his own ears as he presses down on his hardening cock with the heel of his palm, feeling it pulse and grow heavier under his hand. Fuck.

“If you could see the effect you have on me,” he sighs, as much to himself as McCree. But the cowboy grunts out a whine, low in his throat. Hanzo shifts, lets his knees drop open even wider to accommodate his hand. It seems that any noise McCree makes is enough to set his pulse pounding, and he resolves then and there to elicit as many sounds as he can. “Have you done this before?”

“Done what?” McCree asks. His voice has gone husky, a little hoarse. There’s a telltale clink of metal-against-metal as- fuck, as McCree’s belt-buckle hits his metal hand when he opens the clasp, the soft sound of his zipper following right after. The audio is good; Hanzo can picture the way Jesse’s hand teases down the length of his body in time with the creak of worn leather, the breath stuttering in Jesse’s throat as his fingers brush further and further down.

“Touched yourself on a mission. Talked someone to orgasm with just your words in their ear.”

Jesse sucks in a breath, something that’s not quite a gasp at Hanzo’s words. He exhales a deep chuckle. “Now, is that what you’re doin’ already?”

“Don’t tell me that I should slow down so you can catch up,” Hanzo smirks, reclining a little more against the stone wall. He lets his hands wander down his thighs to his knees, back up again in a sweeping pass that keeps him distracted as he listens for Jesse’s response. “I thought you wouldn’t have trouble keeping pace, cowboy.”

McCree laughs. “If you want the ride of your life, y’just have to ask. Won’t be the same as if I would get my hands on you, but - that’ll have to wait for another day.”

Hanzo flushes, feels the heat race across his skin down from his face and across his shoulders, skimming down his spine at the suggestion. Another day. “You’ll have to make do with just what you can do with your mouth, tonight.”

“Mm, and wouldn’t you like to know what I can do with just my mouth.”

That’s a challenge if Hanzo’s ever heard one, and his lips form a reply even before the words have sprung into his brain: “Tell me.”

He has to clench his hands in the fabric of his pants when Jesse chuckles again, deep and thick like molasses. The night air feels cool against his overheated skin, especially where it’s exposed to the elements. After a moment of indecision he pulls the archer’s glove off his right hand, tugging at the fabric with his teeth until his hand is bared.

He knows, in the back of his mind, that he should be embarrassed by his actions, by how much Jesse McCree, the cowboy of Overwatch, is affecting him. But by the time Jesse starts to speak again, Hanzo’s now-bare hand has dipped beneath the folds of his clothes, beneath the tented waistband of his pants, palm resting on the surging curve of his cock - but not resting for long.

“You know what an oral fixation is?” McCree asks, waiting for Hanzo’s grunt of assent before he continues. “For me, means when I don’t have somethin’ in my mouth, it’s mighty distracting. Makes it hard to quit the cigars, no matter if Mercy nags at me worse than a mother hen. I can’t help that I like something between my lips, between my teeth.”

Hanzo’s breath hitches, fingers toying with the coarse hair that leads down from his navel. It’s easy to imagine McCree leaning against a wall just as he is, tucked just barely out of sight, a hand on his cock and a cigar in his mouth as he murmurs dirty things into the comm unit in his ear.

He lets his fingers graze the head of his cock, thick and leaking where it peeks past the waistband of his boxer-briefs. A strangled moan catches in his throat, one that Jesse undoubtedly hears.

“And I guess I’m like all cowboys in that I like to tell a good story. Used to usin’ my voice to ramp up the tension. It’s something you get good at with practice, and you’ll never find me unwilling to use my mouth.” There’s a wet sound as Jesse licks his lips, voice lowering even further as he promises, “Now, let me tell you exactly how I’d use this mouth on you, if you were here on this rooftop with me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


	3. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo _burns_.
> 
> Jesse can feel the heat of him through the layers between them; Hanzo isn’t gentle with his manhandling, and every touch is flint to the fire in his gut. The musk of sweat hangs heavy in the air. Their breath mixes, ragged, panting into each other’s mouths. They don’t kiss.
> 
> “You reckless- ” Hanzo snaps, using his grip to slam their hips together. His cock is a hard, hot line that makes Jesse’s mouth go drier than a desert. “ -thoughtless, foolhardy _cowboy_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter:
> 
> Smut, mission sex, a little bit rough, emotional hurt/comfort, porn with feelings, miscommunication.

 

Hanamura ain’t nowhere near as hot as Hollywood - or even mild Gibraltar, for that matter, nor the scrappy, arid deserts of the Southwest that McCree once called home. Route 66 comes close, when they’re called in to escort a payload, but that’s the kind of heat his lungs are used to. This - this floral humidity, coupled with the sun shinin’ down through the clouds that form off the faraway mountains - this is something different.

Jesse is used to sweating through a mission. It means he’s doing his job, if his adrenaline spikes; it’s a cool electric push through his veins to counter the dampness that trickles his back, slicks the crease of his elbow on his good arm, beads on his forehead. By the time they secure the point he’s wiping his brow with one frayed corner of his serape and even considering removing his hat, if nothing else than to fan his face with the damn thing.

When he’s finished taking stock of himself, he glances around at the rest of the strike team: Jack is alert, but looks as pleased as a man with a masked face can, in light of the successful mission; Reinhardt’s helmet is off, and Mei’s using her endothermic blaster on its lightest setting to spray cool air on his red, smiling face. Lucio looks on, head bobbing to the healing tune he’s using to bolster their energy, now that the fight is over and recovery’s the name of the game. And Hanzo-

Hanzo has slipped down from his sniping perch to join the rest of them, looking surprisingly flushed for someone that grew up in this climate. As Jesse watches Hanzo slants him a look, all narrowed eyes and pursed lips to go along with his pink cheeks.

Jesse’s heart skips a beat. He knows that look.

Their teammates are engrossed enough in coming down from the fervor of the fight - and cooling off - that they don’t even notice Jesse tipping his head towards the door, or Hanzo’s quiet footfalls as he crosses the room. No one objects when McCree calls out that they’re going to get some fresh air; Jack nods in their direction but doesn’t look up from his conversation with Tracer on the comms.

Through the open doorway, then along the balcony that overlooks the sparkling city of Hanamura nestled against the base of the snow-capped mountain - Hanzo’s steps are quick and sure, light even when he looks back at Jesse with an impatient frown. He circles Jesse’s gloved wrist with his fingers, pulls him along at a faster pace. His face is still a pleasing shade of pink, sweat damp at the nape of his neck.

They turn a corner and suddenly he’s off-balance, winded as Hanzo shoves him bodily against a wall. Jesse’s hat jostles as his head snaps back against the plaster, a muscular thigh slotting between his own. God, fuck. The tempo of his heart doubles when Hanzo’s hands find his hips - like he didn’t follow the man out here like a dog on a leash, like he didn’t know this was going to happen.

Like he didn’t dream about this when he rolled out of cover and onto the point swarming with enemies, flash-bangs between the fingers of his left hand, Peacekeeper a comforting weight in his right-

Hanzo _burns_.

Jesse can feel the heat of him through the layers between them; Hanzo isn’t gentle with his manhandling, and every touch is flint to the fire in his gut. The musk of sweat hangs heavy in the air. Their breath mixes, ragged, panting into each other’s mouths. They don’t kiss.

“You reckless- ” Hanzo snaps, using his grip to slam their hips together. His cock is a hard, hot line that makes Jesse’s mouth go drier than a desert. “ -thoughtless, foolhardy _cowboy_.”

The insult doesn’t sting like it’s supposed to; McCree’s developed a callus to Hanzo’s particular brand of concern. And branding it is - he scrabbles at Jesse’s belt buckle, fingers like claws, hot even against Jesse’s sweating skin. He’s gonna have marks from this.

Jesse smirks, even as he can’t catch his breath. Marks are fine by him. He’ll make sure to give as good as he gets, and Hanzo knows it.

“What, darlin’,” he pants, unable to do much more but grip one of Hanzo’s biceps in each hand, anchoring himself against the riptide of his lover’s temper. The smile doesn’t leave his lips. “If you were worried about little ol’ me, you know I can take care of myself.”

Hanzo grunts when the buckle finally folds against his impatient, clever fingers; he jerks it away with such force that the belt snakes halfway out of the loops, metal pinging loudly against the wall as it clatters to the side.

“You wouldn’t like it if I left you to _take care of yourself_ ,” he growls, and Jesse’s chuckle turns into a moan when Hanzo shoves his half-gloved hand into his exposed boxer-briefs, already damp and distended with the outline of Jesse’s own hardened cock.

He looks down the line of his body and oh, hell, if the sight of the flushed head of his cock disappearing and reappearing in Hanzo’s fist doesn’t do him in, the fierce look of protectiveness and concentration on the man’s face is bound to do the trick. Hanzo’s cheeks is still flushed red, eyes thunderous as much as aroused - and if he bites his lip again, like he did last week, this is going to be over mighty quick.

The muscles of his arm flex under Jesse’s fingers as Hanzo jerks him rough and fast, the rush of blood in his ears drowning out everything except the sounds from the man pressed up against him. Hanzo is panting nearly as much as he is, erection pressing into Jesse’s thigh with insistence despite his single-minded concentration on- on bringing Jesse off like a rocket, apparently.

Whenever it was that Hanzo learned that he likes a twist of the wrist, Jesse still hasn’t recovered.

“I knew what gamble I was making,” he groans, and Hanzo hums in reply, tight and low; he leans in to nose aside the sweaty serape, finding the slick side of Jesse’s neck to sink his teeth in. He soothes the sting with his tongue, laving wetly over the bite. His beard rasps against the tender skin. Jesse knows it’s going to leave a mark, and the thought only makes his cock pulse.

He sets to evening the odds, so to speak, while Hanzo’s mauling his throat. Neither of them are fit to make this last, not with the adrenaline high of making it out of a mission alive and the fever of need scorching between them. It gives his right hand something to do, at least - something to focus on so the maddening pace of Hanzo’s hand doesn’t do him in.

The folds and flaps of Hanzo’s clothes are more than familiar, no match for his questing fingers. He could do this blindfolded. Every part of him is like a hound with a scent, when it comes to Hanzo Shimada.

Hanzo sucks in a breath like he’s been punched when Jesse finally wraps a gloved hand around his cock, heavy and thick in his palm. It’s blood-hot, even through the leather, and when Hanzo rocks his hips into Jesse’s grip, moans into the skin of his neck, suddenly it’s not quite enough.

It’s a sign of how dazed, intoxicated with arousal he is that Hanzo lets Jesse flip them around, lets him paw aside the little clothing in the way so that he can take both of their cocks in one hand, guiding them so that they can thrust against each other. There’s little finesse, just the wet sounds of skin-on-skin, the trace of salt in the air as they ooze enough precome to slick them up real nice, bucking and grunting and breathing against each other.

Finally- finally, Hanzo cups a hand around his neck and pulls him in, kisses him like he’s parched for it, like he’s a well in the desert, like it’s better than breathing. It is. He’s all teeth first and softness after, drinking him in between nipping bites, both the storm and the battered cove.

“Do not _gamble_ with your life,” he says against Jesse’s lips, unwilling to put more space between them. His eyes flutter open, hips pushing into his, cock so hot and perfect where it slides against his. “Do not gamble with my heart.”

Jesse’s hips stutter. “Now, sweetheart, I wouldn’t- ”

“You have,” Hanzo punctuates his words with kisses; they have less bite in them, “You do, when you intentionally throw yourself in harm’s way.”

The heat’s nearly too much, the friction of their bodies too distracting for the conversation they’re trying to have. He doesn’t have a good answer. “Part of the job, Hanzo,” he finally grunts, after a pause only filled with their harsh breathing.

Hanzo’s eyes are firm, for all that his mouth is now yielding, more pliant and receptive to Jesse’s own. “Then I must ask you to add an additional objective to your missions, for my sake.”

Too many big words, for a man with his cock out and against another’s. Sweat trickles down his spine, makes his hips twitch forward in a particularly hard thrust. Hanzo moans, head tilting back against the wall, throat exposed.

“Fixin’ to be my keeper?” Jesse rasps, blinking away more sweat. God, what this man does to him. He’s fired up enough from the fight, from the heat; much more and they’ll claw through this conversation poorly enough to draw blood. They’re both too stubborn, burning too hot to have any give.

But Hanzo surprises him again, more anger slipping away to softness. “I’m trying to be your _boyfriend_ ,” he murmurs, still frowning. A little waspish, that he’s had to spell it out. “But I need you to come back to me.”

It’s like a punch to the gut; there’s not enough air.

“Hell, darlin’,” Jesse swallows thickly, resists the nervous laugh, because how could he not know? “Ain’t any mission worth going on if it doesn’t bring me back to you.”

The hand on the back of his neck squeezes - not rough, or hard, but insistent. Hanzo’s serious. “Then act like it.”

“What,” Jesse quirks an eyebrow, kisses the corner of Hanzo’s mouth, grinds his hips all the harder when he brings their cocks together. It’s not hard to smirk wolfishly at the arousal that darkens Hanzo’s eyes. “Don’t it _feel_ like I’m happy to see you?”

That does the trick; Hanzo rolls his eyes but his lips tilt up in a small smile. The rest of his anger burns away, the tension in his shoulders starting to bleed away.

“It feels like you can be trying harder, cowboy,” he smirks back, and that’s a wager if Jesse’s ever heard one.

Their pace trips over itself, doubles with cloying tension finally broken. There’s enough leftover adrenaline to keep them moving against each other, desperate and heady, but it’s more than that. Jesse hitches Hanzo’s thighs up, presses him up and holds him against the wall for better leverage. Hanzo knocks the hat from his head - muttering ridiculous into Jesse’s mouth before coaxing his tongue out to play - and threads his fingers into Jesse’s sweat-damp hair. They rock, and grind, and thrust, and breathe, and hot and sticky and fast and not enough until it finally is.

Their shared orgasms are so explosive that Hanzo’s thighs tremble under his hands, and Jesse has to lower both of them to the ground when his vision goes hazy from the force of it. Neither of them can do much besides slump into each other, humming wordlessly, trying to catch their breaths.

They melt into each other, rough edges finally worn smooth. Their hearts slow. Their sweat cools.

Jesse’s hand slips into Hanzo’s; their fingers catch, and squeeze, and hold.

The fever breaks.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter:  
> @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe)  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) (for more writing-centric twittering!)


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